


Burn Scars

by catastrophage



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Fix, Forced Nudity, Gen, Non-Consensual Kissing, PTSD, Past Torture, Past Violence, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 13:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18262010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catastrophage/pseuds/catastrophage
Summary: Thora survived the fire - but at what cost?Ivar makes sure that her scars never really heal.





	Burn Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for my co-writers over at twitter, but I figured it would work as a standalone without context as well ♥  
> These are two scenes put together in one chapter, as they are pretty short.

**Burning**

_Burning._ No matter how much time had passed, no matter where she went, her skin was still burning. Every movement put strain on the scarred skin of her back, made it itch and tug, even now, months later. Heat was especially bad. When she was bathing she made sure the water was colder than her skin. Shivering and with goose bumps she was sitting in the small tub.

When she woke up at night, sweaty from her nightmares and the sheets clung to her skin, she panicked. It was just like back then, when her clothes stuck to the burnt skin. Her body had memorized the pain. Even if she couldn't feel it, she remembered, and she would whine and moan from agony, biting on her hand not to wake up her lover. The images were still torturing her, too. When she closed her eyes, she could see her family burn. She could see her little brothers watching her catch fire. She wanted to scream every time she woke up, so she pressed her face into the pillows and let out some muffled cries.

She was strong. She had always been strong, and now she had to pull herself together more than ever before. She was still alive. And Hvitserk had returned to her side. Hvitserk, whom she didn't want to burden with the demons that were haunting her ever since that fateful day. She was so strong that she could stop herself from flinching every time he embraced her. Every little touch on her back sent unpleasant shivers down her spine - and yet she never shoved him away. She let him touch her back, stroke it gently. _It's just phantom pain,_ she tried to convince herself. _It's healing._

She would never have thought how much it affected her, how much trouble she had doing even the simplest things like lighting the fireplace. But what was the worst wasn't the pain on her skin. Not the nightmares, or the heat sensitivity.  
What was worst was Ivar. Ivar who still was around, and still in power. Who would send her those glances that let her heart beat fast and her eyes well up with tears. She could still feel his hand on her face, from back when he touched her. When he _marked_ her.

His blue eyes followed her wherever she went, sad and troubled as they were. She would not let him fool her. It wasn't sadness he was feeling, it was _malice_. He was not worried, he was evil. _The eyes are a mirror to the soul_ \- was what the people were saying. But in Ivar's case they were deceptive, betraying his opponent into feeling sympathy for him.

When their paths met, she would reach up and touch her cheek, instinctively. She was rubbing on the skin, as if to make sure there was no paint. Would he do it again? Would he attempt to kill her, finish what he had started?  
She thought of Hvitserk, as she continued to walk her way, thought of their future. But secretly she hoped that Ivar would one day burn in his own flames, that he would reap what he had sown. Only then, she would finally be able to rest.

 

**Scars**

"I'm sorry."  
The way he said it sounded like he meant it. His voice was soft, his expression calm. His eyes... almost a little sad. "Let her go."  
He gestured towards his guards, who were holding the girl in place. "Leave us alone."

Thora shivered. Ivar was not the type of evil king people feared because he'd be loud and rough and primitive. No - Ivar was none of that. He was calm, calculating. He was almost friendly while he was committing atrocities. He was the type of evil king who would smile kindly while ordering a man to be hanged. And maybe... this was even worse.

"Thora," he started, but then hesitated. She knew it was nothing but a dramatic pause. He had ordered her to be brought here, he already knew what he wanted.  
"Sit down," he offered.  
"What do you want?" she blurted out.  
What followed was silence.

Ivar got up from his seat and approached her. His crutch scratched over the floor. Never had she made the mistake to think he was just a cripple. Never had she thought he would be dumb or weak. He was but a monster. A cold-hearted, evil-minded monster.

His hand reached for her shoulder. She wanted to pull away, to run out of the room, but she couldn't. Too fresh were the memories of the last time she left running. Too close the open fireplace he didn't even need to threaten her with. Her eyes were fixed on the flames in fear and she let it happen, she let him touch her.  
"What a good girl you are. And so young."  
Ivar leant his crutch against a nearby seat, so he could use both his hands. He only could balance himself this way if he stood still, but he sensed that there was no reason to believe she would step away. He could see the flames in her eyes, could feel the ever so slight trembling in her body. He knew how scared she was.

"Does Hvitserk treat you well?"  
His free hand reached up to brush her cheek with the backside of a finger. He watched her lips twitch, her jaw tighten. "Oh - he rarely comes home, does he?"  
Now she pressed her lips together. No word would escape her lips, no word about Hvitserk.  
"You know - I care. I _really care_ about my people, all my people, including you."

Now she couldn't help releasing a quiet huff. And Ivar took it as his sign, his permission to get rougher. Both his hands on her shoulders, he reached for the fabric of her dress, and in one fast, forceful movement he ripped it open.

Thora screamed. It was just a split second, followed by much quieter whining. She reached both her hands up, one to cover her chest, the other to cover her mouth. She was expecting Ivar to beat her now, for screaming, and to rape her.  
But he did neither.  
"Shush," he whispered. "Shush. I want to see it. Show me your body."  
He slowly turned her around by her shoulders, and she complied, shivering and on shaky legs, tears which she couldn't hold back any longer running down her cheeks.

There it was. Her back. Her once surely beautiful back, now scarred from the burns. He had ordered this. He had ordered to burn her, and it was a miracle she was still alive. And still so beautiful.  
Ivar's thumb brushed over the hills and valleys of scar tissue, some still red, some already whitening, and some shining in a pale purple from the vessels below. His other hand wandered down her body to hold her around her waist, pull her closer. He wanted to make sure she would neither run away, nor fall over and faint. Then he leaned down to kiss her neck, her shoulders... the burned skin between her shoulder blades. He enjoyed feeling the marks under his lips.  
"Stop it," she breathed. Her heart was beating fast, but from fear. "Please!"

He wrapped a second arm around her, to hold her close. "I'm sorry Thora. I'm sorry for what you have to go through."  
Her tears wouldn't stop flowing. She was not just scared, she was angry now as well. He was _sorry?_ He had done all this. He had marked her, had ordered to burn her. He was touching her now, was forcing her naked. _"Let me go."_

Ivar loosened his embrace. "You can go."  
She was still trembling, as she gathered her torn dress and held it up to cover herself. She didn't leave. She turned around and stared at him. Would he mark her again? Would he punish her for leaving?  
A smile played around Ivar's lips, and he looked down for a moment to suppress a chuckle. "Unless you want to stay. I would feel honored... of course."

Slowly, one step after the other, she backed off. Ivar tilted his head and watched her leave, still with his wicked smile. He knew she would walk out faster, once he was out of sight. He knew the guards would follow her to see where she was going... he knew how scared she would be. She would experience the same panic she had felt before. He wondered if she even would run all the way back to the forest, but he brushed that thought off.  
It was good she was scared. It was enough.

He did not need to hurt her anymore to prove his control.


End file.
